Drop in the Ocean
by DayStorm
Summary: TEMPERARILY ON HOLD (Sorry guys, I have too many stories on the go and am stressing out trying to keep up): On a cool autumn night, Allison Argent died on the end of a katana. She slipped away, cradled in the arms of the wolf who loved her. She could not stay, but finding peace is nowhere near as easy as just letting go . . .
1. Prologue - Demon's Katana

_***Of course, it goes without saying that Teen Wolf, the story and all related characters belong to the writers, cast, crew and production team of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled Teen Wolf. This was written for fun and solely for the enjoyment of other fans***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:** _Hey, all! :) This is the second Teen Wolf fanfic I've written and I look forward to seeing how well this one turns out. I actually wrote part of this story months ago but the story was so random that I ended up scrapping it and starting over. This first chapter is pretty much the same as in the original version but I tightened it up a bit. From here, I now have a clearer idea of exactly where this story is going so the writing will be smoother. More linear._

_Also, I'd like to add that a fanmade Trailer exists for this story. Designed by the incredibly talented _Monkey-gone-to-Heaven_, the Trailer can be found on my Profile page. It's clearly labeled, so it shouldn't be hard to find and I strongly suggest that people go check it out. It really is amazing. I swear I got chills watching it when I saw the complete version for the first time. I could not have asked for better if the video had been designed and produced in a studio. :D So please, go see it and don't forget to credit _Monkey-gone-to-Heaven_. She really is a great friend, and the reason I'm giving this fic a second shot._

_Best,_

_DayStorm_

**Prologue**

**DEMON'S KATANA**

* * *

><p>Grief is the price we pay for love.<p>

– **Queen Elizabeth II**

* * *

><p>It didn't seem fair.<p>

To have come so far, to have already survived so many times when she knew she shouldn't have. And then to have it all end like this . . . no. It wasn't fair. It wasn't even unfair. It was cruel. Allison felt the tears burn in her eyes as she slowly, slowly dropped to the pavement. Cold swept through her, first as a shiver of sensation and then as a harder current of icy tremors. Allison felt her heart thudding wildly. The rush of blood burning in her fingertips. In her toes.

It was strange. Strange and unsettling.

Not at all what she imagined it would be like.

_It's okay,_ she thought. No one wants to die. She supposed that everyone is afraid when the time comes. That didn't make it any easier. Allison _**was**_ afraid. She feared the darkness. She feared being alone. She was deathly afraid of . . . nothing. What if there was nothing waiting for her?

To Allison, whose own weapon was the composite bow . . . it didn't seem real; to be run through by a medieval katana. The long, slender blade that was only an extension of the ninja. And wasn't that exactly as it was designed to be, for when the ninjas were actually human? It moved with them, as fluidly as water. As deadly as a lightning strike.

Allison felt that deceptively delicate blade burn like cold fire as it slid so easily into her abdomen. Through flesh and muscle. The razor-edge grated the bones of her ribcage and then came out the back of her with a startling jolt that shook her whole body. That long, elegant blade had gone straight through her. She remained on her feet, momentarily confused as to how she could possibly still be standing. Unaware that she was being held upright by the demonic strength of the dark ninja holding the katana.

It pulled the blade back with a single smooth sweep, freeing itself and releasing her body so that Allison crumpled, boneless, to the pavement.

Was she shaking?

Allison couldn't feel the tremors but she thought that maybe she was. Tiny little trembles as if she were cold, but even the slight chill in her blood was fading into numbness. She was starting to feel just a little better. Less like she was fading away and more like . . . there was no word for it. But the unsettling cold was going away and that, too, was okay.

Scott was there.

She was looking right into his eyes. Those deep, intelligent brown eyes that had intrigued her almost from the moment she met him. She was in his arms and Allison's mind spun, trying to remember if he'd caught her as she fell . . . or if he'd only just arrived.

"Did you find her?" Allison gasped, panted, and it felt like each word needed to be forced out. "Is she okay? Is Lydia safe?"

They were there to rescue Lydia. They'd come to save one of their own and . . . and that was important. It was something for Allison to hold on to. A bright point of memory to help focus her thoughts even though it was hard. So hard.

Scott's hands were everywhere. Warm, almost hot against Allison's cooling skin. He smoothed stands of hair gently out of her face. His eyes shone bright, glistening with panic and denial as he stared down at the girl in his arms.

"Yeah, she's okay." It was all Scott could think to say. What else was there? What could be said that would do justice to that moment? He felt helpless. Useless in a way he'd never been before. There really was nothing he could do, now, and the wolf in him screamed in outrage. The Alpha driving him to do the impossible and save her. It didn't matter that Allison was human. Or that Stiles and Lydia were not wolves. They were _**his**_. Pack. Family.

Desperation had him reaching for Allison's hand. Her skin was cool and there was no strength in her fingers but he held on and focused his entire being on drawing the pain out of her. He pulled and pulled, heedless of whatever damage it might cause him and felt . . . nothing. She was empty.

"I-I can't," he said, bewildered. Frightened. He tightened his grip, moving to get a better hold on Allison's chalky pale hand. Her fingers were stained crimson with her own blood.

Allison smiled, her eyes glistening in the pale moonlight. She looked up, her gaze fixed on the sea of stars swimming overhead. A sharp sickle moon peeking out from behind the thick clouds passing over the city. A slight breeze whirled and over the scent of concrete and steel and garbage she thought she could make out the scents of grass. Of soil and living wood. There was life out there. A whole world, bursting with life . . . her heart ached. She was leaving. Fading, falling, sinking into that unfathomable black.

"I can't take your pain," Scott said, his voice breaking on the last word.

"It's because it doesn't hurt," Allison said, her own voice soft.

Silence. The whole world had gone quiet. Peaceful. It was the stillness of a lake at dawn and it was beautiful. Scott didn't see, he didn't feel what she was feeling.

"No," he wouldn't let this happen. He _**couldn't**_ let this happen. But Allison nodded, her heart hurting as she saw the tears blurring in his eyes. The pain in them. There was nothing she could do to make it better and hurting him is never what she'd wanted.

"It's okay . . ." she managed past the lump in her throat. Tears she fought hard not to let show. She _**was**_ afraid. She wanted to stay. It wasn't fair!

"Allison," Scott said and the grief and pain in that one word was enough to break her heart all over again. She'd heard what he was saying. _Allison. Please, don't go._

"It's okay," she assured him, nodding weakly. The tears came, then. She didn't have the strength to hide them anymore. She gathered her courage for Scott. "It's okay. It's perfect."

No. No! Scott shook his head, denying what she was trying to tell him. She was being ripped away. Torn from him and it hurt too badly to accept it. He was crying now, too. A single hot tear fell onto Allison's cheek. Scalding hot against her cooling skin. It glistened there, shining as bright as a star captured in the little droplet.

"I'm in the arms of my first love," she said, and her voice broke on the words. A lump formed in her throat as more tears slid free. "The first person I've ever loved . . . the person I'll always love. I–I love you."

She did love him. She would never stop loving him and if there was something beyond this, something that came after then she would love him then, too. Her sweet, beautiful wolf.

The darkness was closing in. A swell of warmth that swept through her.

Allison closed her eyes, afraid now. Truly afraid and stricken with a pain too deep to even feel. There were no words. She wanted so badly to stay! She wanted, she wanted . . . the arrows.

"Please, don't," Scott sobbed. And if he were able to hold her to him with the strength of his will alone, she would live forever. But for all his power, Scott was only still mortal. This one thing, what he wanted more than anything else, was beyond him. Panic rose, hot and fierce as he felt her slipping away. "Allison, don't! Please."

_Stay with me._

The arrows. The arrows.

There was something. Something more that needed to be said. The warm, soothing dark closed over her head. She was sinking. Sinking and floating and, somehow, flying.

"Y-you have to tell my dad," she was fighting it. Struggling to stay, _**needing**_ to stay just a little longer. "You have to tell my dad!"

So hard. So hard. The dark pulled, drawing her deeper into the black. She could only just feel Scott's arms. The warmth of his body. This was it. This was . . .

"Tell him. T-tell . . ."

A rush of air. A sudden, final thud heavy in her chest.

Allison Argent died, cradled in the arms of the werewolf who loved her.


	2. Chapter 1 - Forever Falling

_***Of course, it goes without saying that Teen Wolf, the story and all related characters belong to the writers, cast, crew and production team of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled Teen Wolf. This was written for fun and solely for the enjoyment of other fans***_

**Chapter 1**

**FOREVER FALLING**

* * *

><p>"The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day."<p>

– **Henry Wadsworth Longfellow **

* * *

><p>My name is Allison.<p>

Who am I?

Sometimes, I wonder.

It's not that I'm particularly complicated. But how does anybody answer that question? Who in the world is so simple that they can just sum themselves up in the space of a few sentences? No one.

No one is simple.

No decision is as straightforward as it might seem, even to the person making it. When Lydia was taken, stolen right out from under Scott and Peter while they were distracted . . . I thought that I was joining my friends to get her back. I truly believed that I was there to help my friends rescue one of our own. And Lydia _**was**_ one of us, just as _**I**_ was one of them. We were the human members of Scott's pack, along with Stiles and maybe, just maybe, so was the fox called Keira. She was there, standing with Scott against her own mother. She was doing what she believed was right.

So was I.

It wouldn't occur to me until that very last second that maybe Lydia hadn't been my purpose after all. I wanted to think that if I had to die, then at least I would die for her. Lydia was family, wasn't she? My best friend but also my sister, in some strange way. We were bound to each other through our experiences. Through everything we'd gone through, leading up to this one moment. That finale, terrifying second where I felt the last breath leave my lungs and then . . . nothing. Darkness.

But what if I was wrong?

What if Lydia wasn't the reason I'd chosen to join my friends in what I knew would be a brutal battle against creatures that could not be killed? What chance did any of us have? No. It was more complicated than that. As I said . . . nobody is simple. No decision is as straightforward as any of us would like to believe.

I was there that night because that is exactly where I needed to be. I was the only archer in our group. In our small, strange pack. I was the only one who could have fired that arrow and I hadn't done it for Lydia. I didn't do it for Scott. I fired my arrows, one after the other flying straight and sure into the bodies of those demon ninjas doing no damage at all . . . until I had no more. There were no arrows left, except maybe for one . . . the one I was saving. The one I hadn't even meant to bring with me. But I had it. It felt heavier in my hands than the razor-edged titanium arrows I'd fired before.

I gave up my only silver arrow.

I did it for Isaac.

I did love Scott but it is possible to love more than one. And in that moment, my heart had gone out to golden-eyed Isaac. I loosed my last, most valuable arrow to save _**him**_.

Only now it was over. _**I **_was over and where I should have faded away, holding on to my victory to ease me through that final breath . . . there was only pain, and failure.

I dreamed.

And in my dream, I was falling. I fell though there was no up or down. No walls or floor or ceiling, just this sensation of cold and darkness everywhere. I was so scared I could have screamed, but when I opened my mouth nothing happened. And a part of me did wonder: if I fall forever and ever, without ever touching down, is it still _"falling"_?

It did feel as if it would never stop. The incredible rush of descent, of plummeting downward knowing there was no end. The cold pierced deep, deep inside of me and I couldn't remember what it was to be warm. Or was I only still dying? This could not be it for me. This awful, horrible forever-drop into nothingness could not be my eternity.

From far, far away there came the deep, mournful keen of a wolf. A single, crystal note rising from the depths to a place where it could never be silenced. Hope, a flicker of light that pierced this bitter darkness. I was not alone here. There was more. Stars wheeled, swelling out of the void and exploding out into a glistening spray of light so bright they filled me up. Their fiery shine cushioning my fall so that the terrifying, brutal speed slowed. I wasn't falling anymore. I was floating. Floating on a tide that dipped and swelled, rocking me so gently that it was easy to trust myself to it. To lie back and allow that tide to carry me. I felt weightless. Formless. There was no body, only _**me**_, and it was wonderful. I existed.

This . . . this was okay.

This was my forever.

* * *

><p>The clean, wild scent of wind and water filled me up inside and it was like being born again. It was new and fresh and wonderful. The soft swell of water beneath my body, the gentle sway rocking me. Supported and cushioned in weightless warmth. I could stay like this, and if I had to . . . if this is what it were like to be dead, then it wasn't so bad. This was good. And didn't I deserve to rest? Hadn't I earned this peace?<p>

I drifted, offering no resistance. I was through fighting. I felt satisfied in a way I had never known before. There was this incredible sense of being finished. Of being complete. There was nothing more for me to do. Nothing else that was expected of me. And it was the best feeling imaginable. So I slept and it was good. I slept and time passed but there was only the vaguest sense of it. Time was for the living. I was in somewhere else, secure in a place where time had no hold over me. That, too, was nice.

Peaceful.

And yet, something nagged. A tiny tug at the back of my mind. Like a voice whispering urgently in one ear: _What are you doing? Get up! You're not done yet_.

That voice, that incessant tugging broke the stillness. My own thoughts surfaced as my mind roused to understand the meaning behind the words. I was awake again. Fully awake.

Water swelled, heaving and rolling beneath me. Warmth turned cool, and then icy cold. Panic replaced the peaceful lethargy and I screamed. Butter water flooded my mouth. I choked, struggling to breathe and despite everything I wondered if it were possible for me to drown. Cold, cold water frothed around my suddenly solid body, sweeping over my head and I was pulled under by a fierce current that grabbed at my legs and tugged with a strength that seemed almost deliberate. I struggled, fighting for everything I was worth but there was nothing I could do! The weight of my own body, the shock of suddenly having mass again crippled me. My arms and legs moved jerkily, stiffly. I was having a hard time remembering how my own body worked.

Was I drowning? Was I really going to drown _**after**_ my own death?

Was that ironic, or just tragic?

With a final violent whirl I was driven up and out of the sea. Waves crashed and boiled, pushing my body even further onto the wet sand. My fingers scrabbled in the mud as I fought not to let those ruthless waves pull me back in. I crawled, only just managing to find the strength needed to make my body respond. Weakness, numbness prickled my skin. Muscle and bone and tendon felt plastic to me. Like I had found myself inside a body that wasn't really mine. A machine. Revulsion rose thickly but I shoved it away.

Panting, choking on the sea still in my mouth and nose, I flopped forward and lay very still in the sand. On my belly, with my cheek pressed into the wet sand. My hair fell over my face, into my eyes. Dripping, soggy strands of dark hair. I just lay there and breathed as the surf continued to boil and froth around my legs. The sea reaching as if to draw me back in. What a menacing idea that was. I shivered.

A wind howled off the water, gusting over my prone body raising goose pimples over my arms.

"I'm here," I gasped, my throat raw and stinging. I hadn't lifted my head from the sand, and grains of it stuck to my lips. "I'm here!"

I didn't know what I was saying. The words just came out of me and I wasn't sure exactly what they were supposed to mean. My clothes were soaked, heavy and uncomfortable against my skin. Dark, wet sand caked the palms of my hands and between my fingers. I hurt! The pain was dull but persistent, little aches that flared hotly under my skin and I couldn't help but imagine that this is what it felt like to have life moving through me again. Was I back? Was I actually . . . alive?

On the heels of that thought came another. I couldn't stay there, lying prone on some unfamiliar beach. I needed to get up. To look around and at least try and make sense of what was happening. If I was alive, I would need to find my friends. I needed to get home. To warn them because I hadn't had the chance before. I closed my eyes; wincing and choking as swallowed saltwater continued to pinch in my throat. My friends needed to know: the demon ninjas _**could**_ be killed. They were not unbeatable.

Dragging myself up from the sand, I only just managed to keep from falling over by very quickly dropping to my knees. I could feel the sand displaced beneath me, the heavy roll as I gave my weight to it. Even that small motion, the act of getting up had exhausted me. Blood moved thickly through my veins and my heart, that steady, living pulse deep inside was actually beating. Beating. My lungs worked, drawing in each breath and it was a glorious feeling after nearly drowning but it was not what I had expected.

If I was really dead then something had gone wrong. I couldn't explain exactly why, because I felt alive but this . . . this wasn't supposed to have happened.

Trust an Argent to so royally screw up dying . . .


	3. Chapter 2 - Deer in the Road

_***Of course, it goes without saying that Teen Wolf, the story and all related characters belong to the writers, cast, crew and production team of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled Teen Wolf. This was written for fun and solely for the enjoyment of other fans***_

**Chapter 2**

**DEER IN THE ROAD**

* * *

><p>"Go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for the company."<p>

– **Mark Twain**

* * *

><p>"It is not a double date. It is a <em><strong>group<strong>_ thing!"

The words startled me because, for a moment, I didn't know where they had come from. Or even who had said them. The voice was familiar but my head hurt a little bit. Without thinking, without any conscious intention at all, I responded, "Do they _**know**_ it's a group thing? Because I told you, I'm not ready to get back out there."

I'd said it with a smile, at once teasing and challenging. I definitely wasn't ready to start dating again. Scott and I weren't together anymore. I hadn't seen him at all over the summer. We were officially over but . . . no. No buts. I wasn't ready and that's all there was to it.

I looked over, meeting Lydia's green gaze as she glanced at me and then quickly returned her eyes to the road. The hum of the car engine and the light tug as the forward motion of the vehicle pulled me back against the seat whirled in my head for a moment. Making me dizzy and a little bit sick. What happened? My smile slipped and I also turned to look out the window. Nothing but darkness outside.

The street was glossy black, shiny as if it had been raining for a while but only just stopped. Thick, heavy clouds obscured the stars, deepening the night into an inky shroud. We were on a stretch of highway just outside of Beacon Hills; I recognized this place even if I couldn't see very much.

I frowned, unsettled by the most incredible feeling of two minds slipping together. Identical minds, as if there were two Allison's merging to become one. Confusion whipped through my skull, followed by another sharp bolt of headache pain behind my eyes and then Lydia was speaking again. Completely unaware that something was happening to me.

"You were in France and didn't do any dating? For _**four**_ months?" she mocked, sounding distinctly skeptical. Like romance was the only thing France had to offer. I almost snorted. But I didn't. Instead, I shrugged and allowed myself a small eye roll.

"Did you date?" I challenged. "I mean, after Jacks –"

"– could you not say his name," Lydia interrupted, cutting me off. Rather than glare a warning, though, her eyes dipped down. Hiding the pain I would have seen, there. No matter. The hurt was in her voice and it still felt raw. I should have had the sense to let it drop, but something possessed me to push it. Curiosity, or else just a desire to know exactly where Jackson – Lydia's ex – had gone once he was freed from the Kanima curse.

"Is he okay?" I asked, pretending not to notice the look Lydia shot me. "I mean, did everything work out?"

Lydia sighed but there was some humor in her tone when she responded, "Well, the doctors looked like total idiots when he turned up alive."

I smiled, too, imagining how bewildered – and embarrassed – the doctors must have been seeing Jackson up and about only hours after pronouncing him dead.

"But everyone got over it," Lydia added. Anticipating my next question, she was quick to add, "And yes, Derek taught him the _werewolf 101_. Like how _**not**_ to randomly kill people during a full moon."

Lydia's smile was genuine, then, as she turned to me. A sultry, pouty grin as sharp as steel but full of so much spirit and strength that I had to laugh along. My beautiful, brilliant best friend. It was easy to be happy with her, to smile when she smiled.

"So then you've talked to him?" I said, giving her a knowing look. I knew very well that she had not spoken to Jackson. If she had, I would have heard of it. Actually, I probably wouldn't have heard _**anything else**_ if she'd had the chance to speak with him since he left.

"Uh . . ." Lydia hesitated, her smile slipping. "Not since he left for London."

"You mean since his dad moved him to London," I corrected. Jackson leaving Beacon Hills hasn't been his own choice. Though I thought he might have been a little relieved to be allowed to leave – too much had happened to him here for this place to ever be home to him again.

"Whatever," Lydia was quick to add. She looked away. "He left."

He certainly had. I folded my hands on my lap, and looked down at them. A tremor of emotion shook my chest. It felt like a swallowed sob but that couldn't be right, could it? I closed my eyes, forcing my suddenly tight throat to relax. To take a deep, deep breath and calm myself. Static seemed to travel over my hands, sparking from the tips of my fingers.

Something was wrong.

My head hurt; there was this awful throbbing that made it feel as if someone were yanking on the nerves behind me eyes. And I was swamped with this horrible sense of déjà vu. Like all this had happened before but I just couldn't place it. No, that wasn't right either.

I read once that déjà vu happens when the two halves of your brain process information at different rates. One half processing a few seconds before the other half. Science was not one of my better subjects, but that would explain the weird double-feeling it leaves you with. Déjà vu giving the unsettling impression that something has happened before. Like the world is splitting in half – or like you are – and that's exactly the way I felt right then.

Like there was a real me, and a reflection of me, and I had no way of telling which was which. But the thing with déjà vu is that it always passes very quickly. It's never more than just a few seconds where you stop and think: _**whoa**_. And then it's gone. But this doesn't pass.

There was no eerie sense that I'd done this before, as there would have been if this were really déjà vu. It was more like this, all this, was something that was happening _**again**_. Word for word, I'd lived this moment before. I was sure of it.

Lydia was speaking, turning her head and shooting me an ironic look, "And I mean, seriously. An American werewolf in London? Like that's not going to be a disaster . . ."

I tried to smile, forcing back the horrible sense that I was caught. Like I'd been snatched up and dropped someplace I wasn't supposed to be. I wasn't even sure I was the one talking. Lydia was perfectly, beautifully herself in the driver's seat of her car. And me – or some version of me – was speaking with her. Casually. Naturally. But the words were rehearsed. I felt like I was reading lines off a script, instead of talking with my best friend.

"So you're just totally over him?" I said, making it a question. It came out sounding skeptical.

Very quickly, the words running over themselves Lydia said, "Would I be going on a double-date if I wasn't?"

She blinked. I muffled a laugh, shooting her a triumphant glance.

Lydia sighed.

"Okay. Yes, it _**is**_ a double date." She paused, took a breath and added, "It's not an orgy. You'll live."

Oh, jeez! I laughed again and sat back in my seat.

The car hummed as we came to a red light and rolled to a smooth stop. I shot my friend another brief glance, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. And then, as if by magic, my gaze was drawn past her to the powder blue jeep rolling up beside us in the next lane. My heart skipped, fluttering like wingbeats in my chest and then seemed to stop altogether. An icy chill rolled through my body.

Scott.

He was right there! Only a few feet away, in the passenger seat of Stiles' car. Right as I saw him, he suddenly noticed me, too.

Longing, but also a surprise lit his dark eyes and his face fell in what looked like panic! He futilely tried to sink down in his seat. As if that would somehow make him invisible. As if I somehow wouldn't see the flurry of motion, or Stiles' amused bemusement as he watched his friend trying to disappear into the upholstery. Shrugging, Stiles looked across at us and waved hello with a friendly smile.

"Ohmygod," I spun away, breaking my line of vision with the jeep beside us. "Oh, my god. Ohmygod, ohmygod! I can't see him. Not now!"

I slapped my hands over my face, shaking my head and trying to hide. Not caring that I was being just as ridiculous as Scott, thinking that my hands made any difference. The strangest thing happened, then. I said before that it seemed as if I were splitting in half, like there was suddenly two of me but there was no way to tell which part of me was the real one.

Well, for one wild second both halves split even further apart and my mind was flung backwards.

I wasn't in the car anymore . . .

There was blood in my mouth. The sticky, coppery taste cloying and dark. A soft breeze ran cool fingers through my hair, and I allowed my head to fall back. Stars winking; a brilliant spray of icy constellations wheeling overhead. And Scott was there.

I was looking into his eyes. I could see the stars above, Scott's face silhouetted against the sky, but all I could see was _**him**_. Those deep, intelligent brown eyes that had intrigued me from the moment we met. Fear coursed slow and heavy through my mind. Adrenaline shooting through my veins, heating beneath my skin. My heart was pounding. Panic. It was pure panic but I couldn't help myself. What was going on?

I came back to myself with a _snap_! Just as quickly dropped back into Lydia's car.

"Lydia, go! Just go!" I ground out, waving my fingers to indicate the open road ahead. There was nobody else out here. Who cared if the light was still red?

Stiles had already leaned across Scott's seat and was rolling down his window with a jovial grin.

"Hey!" he shouted in greeting. I barely heard him as Lydia floored it, the tires of her car squealing on the asphalt. She pulled away, and I turned in my seat to see the jeep's headlights flickering. But the jeep stayed where it was, idling at the light. I sighed in relief and faced forward, my heart hammering. I could feel the rush of blood in my head and it was making me dizzy. My stomach lurched. I thought . . . I thought I was going to be sick.

"You alright?" Lydia asked, turning to me with a concerned frown. Her eyes passed over my face and I could just imagine how I must have looked. Pale. Scared.

I nodded to her, closing my eyes with a sigh. Trying to calm my wildly fluttering pulse.

Lydia's muted _'Hmm'_ had me glancing over. Creeps shivered over my skin as the scent of brine and cold water filled the inside of the car. Lydia's gaze had fixed on her rearview mirror. I looked back. Stiles' jeep was now cruising down the highway directly behind us, only a dozen feet or so from our bumper. Unlike us, he'd waited until the stoplight had turned green. I could see the leafy color reflecting off the rain-dampened sheen of the street.

As I watched, the jeep skidded in a way that suggested Stiles had just slammed on the breaks.

Without thinking, I said, "Lydia stop. Something's wrong."

Looking annoyed, her brow furrowing as she eased off the gas Lydia allowed her car to roll to a stop. She turned on me, and I could see the question in her eyes but I was still turned in my seat. Looking at the jeep through the rear window. Lydia turned also, twisting her whole body around to better see what I was already looking at.

"They've stopped too," she muttered. "Why would they stop?"

Why? Why . . . we were in the middle of the street, on a stretch of deserted highway. There was no one else around. No one but us out here.

Again, the sense of having lived this moment before shook me. The harsh smell of salt water thickened, filling my head with the sea. I could hear the roar of the surf like thunder.

_Scott's hands were everywhere. Warm, almost hot against my cooling skin. He smoothed my hair back, his fingers so gentle. But his eyes. Those eyes shone, glistening with panic and denial as he wept over me. He reached for my hand, grasping it with werewolf strength. As if he thought that holding me tightly enough would bind us together, keeping me here. With him. And oh, I wanted to stay!_

"_I-I can't," he said, bewildered. Frightened. He tightened his grip, moving to get a better hold on my hand. His fingers slicked with my blood. Crimson. It looked black, in the darkness._

_I smiled softly, allowing Scott to see it. Tears stung in my eyes. Hot. The only part of me that felt warm. I was cold, and it came as a chill that swelled from inside of me. Not the coolness of the wind against my skin, but of my own life leaving me . . ._

"_I can't take your pain," Scott said, his voice breaking on the last word._

_I said, very simply, "It's because it doesn't hurt."_

My eyes sprang open.

Lydia was saying, "It's Stiles and Scott. D'you really want to try and understand the logic of those two?"

My head was ringing. The noise of hooves thrumming, growing closer.

"Maybe we should go back –"

**CRASH!**

Glass exploded, erupting up and out in a flurry of glistening shards. Lydia screamed. Her voice raised in startled fear. So did I. The suddenness of the attack tearing at my frayed nerves so that I screeched to where my throat hurt. A thick weight flew through the window and I saw eyes shining. Dark, terrified eyes a moment before the light went out of them and I knew the creature was dead. Lydia sprang out of the car, escaping from the thing that had just broken in on us. I could hear doors spring open from outside, then males voices as Scott and Stiles ran to see what was wrong. To help. Rough, warm hands grabbed me by the arms and yanked me out of the passenger seat of Lydia's totaled car.

But not before I saw exactly what had hit us.

A deer. A stag. Two hundred pounds of muscle and bone and power, with hooves that could cleave straight through a man's skull. Antlers that could impale a body. The creature looked like it struck with all the power and speed of its nature, and now it was dead. It broke itself, tangling in steel and glass. Its throat and face lacerated from going through the windshield.

Scott was holding me, his arms strong around my shoulders as I stared dumbfounded at the animal.

This was real. This was all real; not a dream. I could feel the world around me . . .

The cool wind swirling over the open road and rustling in the trees on either side. The pebbles of broken glass crunched under my boots, rolling and throwing off my balance. The musk of the stag's hide, the freshness of the rain and wet asphalt. The softer but still pungent odor of blood thickening in my throat. Even the subtle, nearly imperceptible scent of wolf that my human nose was scarcely able to detect coming off of Scott. The warmth of Scott's body against mine . . . this was real.

And yet somewhere, from very far away but as near as my next breath, I could still hear the rush of the ocean. Waves rolling, breaking on the shore. And there, so close, I heard the haunting cry of a wolf wailing at the moon.


End file.
